A Fraying Cord
by starrysummernights
Summary: Sequel to The Illusion of Control. When John wakes an hour later, it's to need twisting through his lower body, heavy and demanding, so intense it almost makes him nauseous. He groans, burying his face into the pillows. He always hates this part of his heat- the seemingly never-ending arousal, only ever temporarily relieved and returning in full-force over and over again.


**Thank you for all the response the last installment of this series received. I was overwhelmed. I hope you like this new story just as much. I have plans to write a few more stories in this 'verse, including how John and Sherlock got together and bonded. **

**Enjoy :)**

* * *

When John wakes an hour later, it's to need twisting through his lower body, heavy and demanding, so intense it almost makes him nauseous. He groans, burying his face into the pillows. He always hates this part of his heat- the seemingly never-ending arousal, only ever temporarily relieved and returning in full-force over and over again.

The warm cotton pressed against his nose smells like Sherlock- the musky, unmistakable scent of his Alpha- and the need in John's belly coils tighter in response. He grimaces at the sudden rush of wetness from his arse as his lower muscles spasm in sympathetic response to the scent, his body readying itself for another mating. His cock, trapped between his body and the bed, throbs, arousal settling thick in his groin and John rolls his hips, rubbing his cock against the sheets repeatedly. It catches and slides against a sticky, wet patch he's already leaked onto the sheets. His skin is shivery, sensitive, and overheated in the cool air of the flat. John feels that if he opened his eyes, he'd see heat waves shimmering upward from his body.

He knows Sherlock is beside him without looking. He can smell him and…John's stomach lurches in sudden arousal, his throat growing dry with want at the fresh scent of his Alpha. Near, so very near. Warm. Tempting. He shudders at the flood of hormones it provokes, hands fisting themselves in the sheets as his hips stutter, cock leaking freely, arse clenching at nothing, feeling so very empty. Achingly empty.

"_Fuck_."

John forces his body away from the tantalizing grind of his cock against the mattress, rolling onto his back, buttocks sliding wetly together. When he opens his eyes, wincing at the bright light flooding the room, the first thing he sees is Sherlock- hovering beside him, practically vibrating in breathless, suppressed excitement, eyes trained on John's face. He's on his knees, hands curled into impotent fists against his thighs, erect cock standing out rigidly from his crotch, surrounded by a nest of dark curls. John licks his lips at the sight of his Alpha, wondering how long Sherlock's been sitting there, watching him frot against the mattress.

Feeling mischievous despite the sickly need permeating his body, John stretches indulgently, eyes fluttering closed as his muscles pull beneath his skin. Sherlock makes a broken noise and, taking it as an invitation, reaches out, his long fingers tracing down the planes of John's stomach-

"Stop."

Sherlock's hands immediately fall away. They curl back into fists in his naked lap, clenched so tight his knuckles are white so as to prevent him from touching John again without permission.

"Did you get any sleep?"

Sherlock's throat works agitatedly for a few seconds, his nostrils flaring, before he mutely shakes his head.

"No?" John hums, eyes glinting playfully. "Shame. I slept really well." He stretches again, shamelessly displaying his naked body just to torment Sherlock. The sight of his Alpha staring at him- eyes dilated so much they're almost black, breaths ragged as he scents the air, smelling John and Omega and arousal- is intoxicating. John loves it. Revels in it even as another warm, viscous gush eases its way out of his body, his muscles turning jittery the longer he denies himself. He knows where this encounter is going- his heat won't allow anything else but a complete mating before he gains total relief but…

Watching Sherlock, John glides his fingers down his chest, thumbs rubbing over his nipples, hissing at the fresh wave of need that provokes- more wetness, his cock growing even harder-

"_John_." Sherlock's voice grates out impossibly low, an imploring note running through it that John, for the time being, ignores.

He drags his hands lower, his skin breaking out in gooseflesh at the simple caress. He bypasses his cock, even though doing so makes him whine, hips involuntarily thrusting upward, and rubs at his thighs, feeling the muscles twitching. He spreads his legs- Sherlock growls- and traces the smooth skin below his cock and back to his hole, gathering the moisture there on his fingers.

"Oh…._Christ_." John grinds his arse against the bed, breath catching in his throat at the need to be filled. It's worth the excruciating discomfort of denying himself, though, to watch Sherlock and see those gorgeously green-blue eyes train on John's hands hungrily. To know how much Sherlock wants to move…but doesn't. Because that would be defying John. There's a certain pleasure in it. Not as much as John needs.

Sherlock's eyes glaze when John wraps his wet hand around his cock, lips parting on a sigh.

"John, can I-"

"No."

Sherlock actually whimpers, a high, plaintive sound at the back at his throat. "Please-"

"_No_, Sherlock." John sets up a quick rhythm, stroking himself, the pleasure fizzing through his veins. "You might not be up to satisfying me, anyway." He teases breathlessly, his throat starting to feel clogged with how much he _wants_. He takes deep breaths, trying to maintain control of himself, not wanting to turn mindless and weak. Stupid and gagging for it. He can feel his control slipping, eking away as his heat escalates and he just…oh, fuck…he _hates_ feeling that way.

"What-"

"If you didn't get any sleep earlier you may be…too tired…to satisfy me." John grunts, forcing a flippant smile, hand tugging at his cock. The dark narrowing of Sherlock's eyes at his taunts only spurs him on.

* * *

It is torture. Fine, exquisite torture to watch John pleasure himself and be unable to do anything to help. Sherlock feels impotent. Helpless. John is _his_ Omega. _He_ should be the one with his hand on John's cock, stroking him, pleasuring him. He's not too tired to pleasure John. He isn't. The fact that John says he is makes Sherlock snarl and bare his teeth. He is an Alpha. He knows how to pleasure his Omega.

Instead, he is forced to watch as John speeds up the motions of his hand, his back arching and heels digging into the mattress as he teeters on the verge of orgasm.

Sherlock shifts impatiently, heart thrumming in his chest, all his focus on John's hand. He licks his lips, eager to see John come.

It's only seconds later when Sherlock gets his wish: John's thin, watery ejaculate- nothing like Sherlock's, which is thick and white- spurts over his hand, covering his stomach and groin in wetness. John writhes his way through his orgasm and Sherlock snakes his tongue out, licking at his lips as if he can already taste John in his mouth. His own cock is hard, moisture welling from the tip, and his knot is halfway formed at the base as if he were a teenage Alpha without any self-control.

"_Sherlock_." John's voice is a soft rasp in the quiet of their bedroom and Sherlock's eyes immediately snap to his face. What he sees there- the unsatisfied arousal, the desperate want- makes him groan. "Sher…lock…_Please_."

John barely gets the small word out before Sherlock launches himself at him in a flurry of limbs. He straddles John's thighs and bends forward, kissing John, mashing their lips together in a frantic display of passion. It's not what he wants, though. Kissing John is fantastic but at the moment it pales in comparison to the prize that lies between them.

Sherlock slides lower and swipes his fingers through the puddles of John's ejaculate. He brings it to his lips, sticking his fingers in his mouth, eyes fluttering closed at the pure ecstasy of the taste.

"Slut."

Sherlock's eyes open at John's strained, teasing voice and, for John's benefit, he sucks explicitly on his fingers as they slip wetly from his mouth. Maintaining eye contact, he dips his head and licks John's come off his skin.

"_Oh_." John writhes beneath him. "Oh, Sh-"

John's voice abruptly cuts off, turning into a choked gasp when Sherlock takes John's cock in his mouth, sucking at it and swirling his tongue around the length of it. John's hips buck upward, his cock sliding through the moist heat of Sherlock's mouth and his hands card through Sherlock's hair, pulling at it and yanking, directing Sherlock into the rhythm he wants. Sherlock relaxes into the touch, letting John be as bossy as he wants. The powerless anger of earlier dissolves as he's permitted to suck on John, drink in his groans and let himself be used for John's pleasure. It makes something pleased purr in Sherlock's chest even as John gives a hard tug on his hair that makes his eyes water.

* * *

Eyes slitted with growing pleasure, John looks down at Sherlock, stomach jolting when he realizes Sherlock is staring up at him, eyes dark and reverent. He's been with Alphas who refused to perform oral sex on an Omega. They'd thought it was beneath them. Those had been the Alphas John hadn't cared to see again- _after_ he'd given them a few choice words about what selfish arseholes they were.

Sherlock's never had any qualms about it, though. John sometimes thinks Sherlock would sleep with John's cock in his mouth if he let him.

"Oh, Christ. I want you to fuck me." John gasps breathlessly, using Sherlock's hair to pull him away from his erection, his need suddenly incredibly urgent. It rolls through his body, hot and painful in its intensity.

Sherlock pulls away, mouth already open to ask- but as soon as there is room John rolls onto his front, scrambling to hands and knees in a wordless display of how he wants it. His skin is feverish, breaths coming heavy with anticipation as Sherlock moves behind him. John closes his eyes when Sherlock spreads his arse, wincing at the feeling of being so exposed.

"_Sherlock_!" John yelps in surprise, jerking away from the unexpected sensation of a warm, questing tongue in his arse.

It isn't that Sherlock's never done this before- they've both done it to each other on multiple occasions- but here and now…it's filthy. Sherlock's own semen is leaking out of John's hole, mixed with his wetness…but it's obvious Sherlock doesn't care as he licks and sucks at John with increasingly filthy sounds. His hands clutch at John's hips, holding him in place as he licks him open, ignoring his protests, delving his tongue in and out of John's wet hole.

John's cock jerks against his stomach and he squirms, arse clenching around Sherlock's tongue. It's _not enough_. Not _nearly_ enough. He needs more.

"_Sherlock_." John manages to grind out. "Get the fuck on with it."

Sherlock does. He quickly lines up before thrusting forcefully, sending John jolting forward. His fingers dig into John's hips to hold him in place as he sets up a pounding, relentless pace and John doesn't even think to protest. It feels too good. It's exactly what he needs. This won't last long- John's teased them both too much- but that's fine because all John, swamped with lust and the desperate desire to orgasm, wants is to make this burning heat just _stop._

Sherlock's fingers fumble at John's shoulders, tugging at him, and John's too lust-addled to know what he wants.

"Up. I- I need you up." Sherlock's voice is frantic and John struggles to obey, the motion of raising up from his hands feeling as if he is moving through molasses.

The new position changes the angle- Sherlock can't thrust in and out as hard as he was before, can only move in short thrusts into John's body but- oh. That's….yes, that's perfect. That's what John needs to come. That….that…Sherlock….please, keep doing that…please don't stop…please…oh, yes, please.

"Sssh. I've got you. I'll give you what you need. It's ok, John, I've got you." Sherlock whispers against John's neck, his words a fervent vow branded into John's brain. His arms wrap around John's body, holding him close. One arm is an anchor around John's chest, pressing him back against Sherlock, the other rides low on John's abdomen so Sherlock's hand can wrap around John's cock. He squeezes it and John sobs out a desperate breath. He fucks himself back on Sherlock in small little bursts, panting, needing more…just a bit more…

"John."

He shudders at the sound of his Alpha's voice. Deep. Loving. Worshipful.

"John. Oh…Oh, _my_ John." Sherlock's nose runs along John's neck and, without any conscious thought, he tips his head to the side, exposing himself to Sherlock's perusal, an innately Omega gesture.

"John. John, I'm going to bite you now."

Oh. _Oh, _that sounds _perfect_. That's what John wants, he grasps. He wants Sherlock to bite him. Mark him in an unmistakable way so that everyone will know John is his. He shoves aside the tiny voice that says no, that _isn't_ what he wants. That voice, in this moment, is unimportant.

"John? John, may I?" Sherlock sounds wrecked. His knot is catching against John's rim with every greedy push into John's body and he knows Sherlock is close.

John pants, forming words seeming far beyond his current ability.

"John?"

Something nonsensical and guttural instead of words issues out of John's mouth and he bites his lip to stop it. _Oh, god_. He nods, feeling sweat slipping down his face, and keeps agitatedly nodding in case Sherlock missed it the first time because he really, _really_ wants Sherlock to bite him-

John has a split second of warning- the heat of Sherlock's mouth on his neck, the scrap of his teeth against his skin- before he bites, his teeth sinking into John's flesh, sharp and piercing.

It should be painful.

The rational, non-heat-addled part of John's brain knows he should be experiencing a lot of pain as blood, warm and thick, slides down his neck. All his feels, though, is _claimed_.

John goes utterly motionless under the pressure, strangely calm despite the aching heat still curling insistently through his body. Sherlock's teeth sink deeper into his skin and it's…incredible. He hasn't felt this since their first heat together, when Sherlock had bitten him for their bonding. John had forgotten how it felt. Oh Christ, how had he forgotten this?

Sherlock, who had stopped moving when he bit, begins thrusting again, his teeth firmly latched into John's flesh as he jerks his hips roughly. A small growl works its way from his throat, rumbling against John's skin as he thrusts his cock into John's pliant body.

John lets him, doesn't even feel a flicker of wanting to protest the rough, uncoordinated movements. He vaguely wonders if this is what people feel when they are high. No problems. No worries. Just…peace. He can feel Sherlock's knot swelling and he sobs out quick, anxious breaths, afraid he'll start wailing like a slut in a few more seconds with how badly he wants it.

Sherlock's teeth sink deeper into John's skin as he suddenly shoves his knot into the clasping heat of John's body, his arms seizing hard around John's body as he comes. His shout is muffled by the mouthful of John's skin he's gripping in his teeth and his knot expands, feeling impossibly big, sealing them together. His hand drops to stroke at John's cock, sloppy, uncoordinated, but there's enough precome coating Sherlock's palm to make the glide pleasurable, and John's already so close-

The sensation is almost too much to bear. The pleasure sizzles through his body like fire, scorching, searing away the raw agony of arousal and leaving John weak-limbed and moaning, sobbing in abject relief.

As the last tremors work their way through John's body, Sherlock carefully releases the pressure from his bite. John moans- this time in pain- as Sherlock's teeth slide free. _Oh, fuck, it hurts_. Blood immediately wells from the wound and trickles down John's back, down his chest, slicks across his body as it dribbles onto the bed. He tries to put it all together- tries to make his eyes assess how much blood he's losing- but he can't make anything focus. Nothing is right. Everything is hazy. Indistinct.

Sherlock's hands gently prod at him, helping John sink onto the bed, careful to coordinate their movements so as not to pull at the place they're joined. John goes down without a fight, letting Sherlock direct him, slumping forward with a sigh.

Anxious hands stroke at John's face, wiping away the sweat from his flushed cheeks. "Are you all right?"

John frowns at the worried tone of Sherlock's voice and summons the strength- which is harder than it should be- to nod. His neck twinges in protest, presages of the stinging pain to come, but for some reason John…doesn't care. He can't summon the will to care when his mind is so…tranquil.

"I believe I may have bitten you rather deeply. Nothing requiring stitches, of course, and it _looks_ like a lot of blood but I assure you it's nothing at all to be concerned about. You lost more blood last week when you cut your hand fixing the toaster." Sherlock's clears his throat. "It will scar, though…. Unfortunately."

John giggles weakly at that. As if Sherlock would care if the bite scarred. It's probably what he's hoping for.

"Was...was that all right?"

"Mmmhhhmmm. Ye-ee-es." John's voice is thick and slow. He sounds drugged…and maybe he is, in a way. Drugged on the flood of hormones and pleasure chemicals ricocheting around his body, released both from the sex and his Alpha's bite. The room spirals around him in slow loops and John feels as if he'd be floating above the bed if it weren't for Sherlock's arms wrapped around him and his knot buried in his body, holding him securely in place.

John is almost asleep again, drifting into an exhausted sleep, when he feels Sherlock lick a stripe up his neck. Sherlock does it again, and again, until he is practically purring behind John in contentment. John frowns, too tired to pull away and his voice, when it comes out, is thick and rough. "Stop that."

Another unhurried lick at his nape, another a pleasured hum of contentment. "Stop what?"

_As if the git doesn't know_. John huffs, letting Sherlock spoon up against him and indulgently lick the blood from John's neck.

"Nothing."


End file.
